ment.

"Do you really think I am one of the thieves?" he gasped.

"It's mighty suspicious," responded Jack Rodman. "You were seen in the
neighborhood of the post office to-night, and then this knife business is a
clew."

"I don't think Ralph will run away," said Bart Haycock. "I myself think he
is innocent."

"Thank you for those words," said the boy. "I am innocent."

"Then you have no objections to our making a search about here," said the
constable.

"Not any objection whatever," said Ralph, promptly. "Search where you
please."

"I'll help you," said Uriah to the constable.

"Hadn't you better hold me tight?" suggested Ralph, with a sarcasm which
was entirely lost on the miserly storekeeper.

"Well, I dunno," hesitated Uriah.

"I will see to it that he doesn't run away," said the blacksmith. "This
makes me sick, Ralph," he added, in a low tone. "I know you are as
innocent as a babe. That post office was robbed by professionals."

The constable and Uriah knocked on the cottage door and Mrs. Nelson let
them in. She was greatly surprised when Jack Rodman declared his errand.

"Ralph is indeed innocent!" she exclaimed. "You may search the premises all
you please."

The constable and Uriah took a lamp, and the search began. Every nook and
corner of the cottage was gone over, but nothing that looked like what had
been taken--money and registered letters--came to light.

"I hope you are satisfied now," said Mrs. Nelson, in a tone of
half-triumph. "Ralph hasn't a grain of dishonesty in him."

"Let's take a look outside," suggested Uriah. "Maybe he knew better than to
bring it in the house."

So outside he and the constable went. They looked around under the stoops
and around the woodshed.

"Not a thing," murmured Jack Rodman.

Uriah did not reply to this. His sharp eyes had caught sight of a leather
bag, half-concealed under a clump of raspberry bushes. He ran forward and
dragged the bag out.

"Look here!" he cried. "What did I tell you?"

"A leather valise, true enough!" exclaimed the constable. "But it may be
one belonging to the family."

"Would they leave a good valise out under them bushes?" growled Uriah. "Not
much!"

"I shouldn't think they would."

"And, besides, this looks like the one Benjamin Hooker kept in the post
office for his trips to the Chambersburgh Bank."

The constable began to examine the bag. Soon he ran across a tag inside,
upon which was printed in ink:

Property o